


Quantum

by amethyst_flame



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23966893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethyst_flame/pseuds/amethyst_flame
Summary: It had been more than a month in this stinking cesspool. Locked into a cell. Chained with iron, the metal cutting into his wrists and ankles. His left leg was broken, for the second time now. He’d done his best to realign the bones, but even with his enhanced healing, they may never set correctly.Thoughts of Kaer Morhen twisted in his chest. He’d never see the crumbling keep again, or sit near the fire with the other witchers. His brothers. Eskel, gruff and kind-hearted. Lambert, whose sharp words hid a painful past. And Vesemir, the only father he’d ever known.He wouldn’t be making it home this year.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 81





	1. Hope is a Dangerous Commadity

He _hurt_. 

Geralt adjusted his position, stretching out his good leg and twisting slightly at the waist to work out the stiff muscles. The movement sent fire racing along the bloodied lash marks criss-crossing his back. He winced and kept going, trying to keep his muscles from atrophying too far.

It had been more than a month in this stinking cesspool. Locked into a cell. Chained with iron, the metal cutting into his wrists and ankles. His left leg was broken, for the second time now. He’d done his best to realign the bones, but even with his enhanced healing, they may never set correctly. 

He had bled more than he should have been able to survive. And he’d spent days upon days alone in the dark, with nothing but his own broken thoughts to keep him company. The cell sealed off all light; even his eyes couldn’t detect anything until the doors were swung open again, the sudden light from the torches enough to blind him and leave him disoriented. 

The town, Elderon, had an Erynia problem. The large harpy-like monsters lived, and hunted, in packs, making it a difficult, but ultimately lucrative, contract. He’d killed them, and brought a wing from each to the city council. He collected his pay, and then was ambushed as soon as he stepped outside. Still injured from the contract, it didn’t take much to overpower him. 

His captors, the men of the village he’d saved, thought it would be fun to torture and humiliate a witcher. He couldn’t feel anything, and he wasn’t human, so it wasn’t like they were really doing anything wrong. They wanted to break him, destroy his body and mind. 

Much more of this, and they may succeed. He was tired almost all the time now. Weak. Hurting. Waiting for the death he knew was coming. His mind wandered so easily; meditation was nearly impossible, robbing from him the final solace of a broken mind.

He was going to die here, on his own, in the dark. He’d never so badly wanted for the touch of a kind hand or a soothing word. He’d never so desperately wanted to not be alone. He didn’t fear death, he realized. But he feared what came before it.

He heard boots on the stone leading to his cell. Back for more punishment. More torture.

The pain was the only thing he had left. 

He closed his eyes, giving himself a moment of peace, before the heavy door opened, steel scraping against the stone floor. Perhaps, if he were lucky, today would be the day death finally won out. 

“Aye, Witcher! Are you ready to speak with us yet? Tell us all your Witcher secrets?” Geralt said nothing. They didn’t really want to know. It was just an excuse to carry on with their punishments.

“See that, Wallace? He’s still no’ speaking.” 

“Aye, I see. We’ll just have to see if today’s the day he’ll be persuaded.”

“Fuck off,” Geralt growled.

Wallace grinned, showing off a smile of rotting teeth. The first blow hit his face, knocking him to the side. He felt the delicate skin inside his cheek split with the force, blood filling his mouth. The second, a well-aimed kick, landed along his ribs and left him gasping. He curled weakly in on himself, trying to protect his torso. At one point, the taller one held him down, flat on his stomach, with a boot on his neck, while the other one flogged him with a rough strip of leather, reopening all of the barely-healed wounds, and adding more. Blood flowed freely from his back; the shirt he wore provided little protection. The welts and cuts themselves weren’t overly troubling--they’d heal quickly--but the pain in the moment was severe. 

He breathed deeply, embracing the pain, letting it roar over him. There was little else he could do with it, and there was no sense in fighting.

***

When they left, he could barely hold his eyes open. His breath stuttered in his chest, blood thick in his throat, neck bruised. With them gone, the cell was plunged back into the inky darkness, leaving him no distraction.

They had been trained to take pain, during their upbringing as Witchers. How to breathe through it, and how to push the pain away, separating from it. And that had worked, for the first two weeks. The methods were only meant to last until rescue or death, and both were taking too long in coming. 

The thought of Kaer Morhen twisted in his chest. He’d never see the crumbling keep again, or sit near the fire with the other witchers. His brothers. Eskel, gruff and kind-hearted. Lambert, whose sharp words hid a painful past. And Vesemir, the only father he’d ever known. 

He wouldn’t be making it home this year. 

Spent, he slumped forward, until his cheek rested on the damp, cold stone, eyes closing. It would only be a matter of time before the exhaustion and pain overtook him. 

***

 _“Witcher. Witcher, get up!”_

He stirred, forcing open swollen eyes, to see a shadowed figure over him. A pale wraith-like being with dark hair flowing around her head. A spirit, come to take him? He reached a hand towards it. 

“I’m ready,” he tried to say, pushing the words past broken lips.

A soft hand caressed his face, cool skin soothing his brow. He turned into it, weakly seeking comfort. “You’re going to be okay, but you must get up,” the voice said. “I cannot carry you.” 

The hand entwined with his, pulling insistently. The shackles were gone, he realized. With her help, he stood, leaning heavily on her, broken leg screaming.

“Come, it’s not far.” 

He stumbled on. Each step was an eternity, with only soft words and soft hands, and the occasionally muttered curse, keeping him moving. Stone walls and floors gave way to dirt, and then he was climbing onto a horse. 

After that, he remembered nothing.

***

He woke. 

He was laying on his side, warm and dry in an unfamiliar bed. His wounds were healing. There was a slight smell of heat and smoke and burning wood--a fire. Eyes still closed, he took inventory of his surroundings. The room was not small, but hardly large. A cabin, given the way the sounds of birds outside filtered through the wooden walls and the scent of recently prepared food. He was in someone’s home.

His wounds still pained him, but not as badly as before, and the worst of them had been bandaged. He felt cleaner. Vaguely, he remembered a soft voice, begging him to keep moving. A rescue? 

There was a hand in his. Small and soft. A woman’s. Her fingers were resting over the pulse point in his wrist. Curiosity finally won out, and he pried open his eyes, blurred gaze taking in the sleeping form in the chair beside his bed. She was young, no more than twenty-five. Hair the color of mahogany, and a fair complexion. Dark shadows marred the skin beneath her eyes. 

She was exhausted. He hated to wake her, so he kept his hand where it was. Surely, it had nothing to do with the onslaught of memories threatening to pull him away. Terror rose through his chest, hot and cold all at once, and he breathed carefully, willing it away. Focusing on the feel of her hand helped to ground him. 

How did he get here? Was he safe? Was this some new torture? Or something his mind had created, finally breaking and giving him solace in insanity? 

Hope was something he couldn’t afford. And yet… He was warm and safe for now. Pain sapped his energy. Whatever this was, the answer would wait. He closed his eyes again, letting sleep claim him.


	2. Finding Courage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the love on the first chapter! It's so good to see a few returning readers (and so many new ones--Hello! And welcome!). 
> 
> I just want to put in a quick note about timelines-- this takes place before Blaviken. Geralt isn't carrying the burden of Renfri's death just yet. He's a little bit younger, and a little bit less world-weary, but the path still hasn't been kind. We're going to see a little more of that over the next couple of chapters.
> 
> Also, Geralt is a little out of character. He spent a month being beaten and abused, and locked in a small, dark cell. He's not exactly himself right now.

“Geralt.”

He stirred, opening his eyes. The woman stood at his side, cautiously watching over him. He shifted, trying to push himself up, biting back a groan at the pull of ravaged skin. At some point in the night, he had rolled over, resting on his injured back. The pain wasn’t as bad as it had been, but it still wasn’t comfortable.

The woman reached out, setting a hand on his shoulder, holding him still. Bare shoulder, he realized. His shirt was gone. “Easy. You’re still healing.” She reached around him, repositioning the pillows, adjusting them until he was slightly elevated. “That should help.”

“Where am I?” He tried again to rise, but the woman, again, placed her hand on his shoulder, careful to avoid his injuries. He leaned back, taking a moment to look around, now that the morning sun was shining in.

“You’re safe. Still in Elderon.” 

So, not safe, he thought. Not really. “What happened? How--” He trailed off, looking up at her. 

“You were unconscious for three days. There are men searching the woods and hills for you now, but they won’t think to look here.” 

He looks around the home. It’s small. Simple, but clean. And then he looked back to her, carefully measuring her up. “You rescued me.” 

“Someone needed to. The people in this town have short memories. As soon as the monster was dead, well.. I got to you as quickly as I could.” She turned away, bustling at the stove for a moment, before turning around with a bowl of broth in her hands. “It’s not much, but you’re not ready for anything heavier.” 

He lifted a hand towards the dish, but his trembling fingers refused to move the way he needed them to. She said nothing, just lifted the spoon towards him. “A team effort this time, maybe. You’ll regain your strength soon.” 

His hands fell uselessly back to his side, but he leaned forward a bit, opening his mouth as she brought the spoon closer. The embarrassment of his predicament was lessened by the necessity of nourishment. 

“My name is Danika,” she said, after a moment. 

“Geralt, of Rivia.” 

A tiny smile crossed her lips. “I know who you are. I thought you’d be taller.”

He looked up at her, incredulous. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

Her smile widened. He saw a hint of the young girl she would have once been, light and teasing. No one ever looked at him that way. And women didn’t tease him, not unless they wanted a place in his bed for the night.

This didn’t feel like that. 

“You have my thanks,” she said, after a moment, “for keeping us safe. I’m sorry. You deserved better than what they did to you.” 

He hummed, and fell silent. He ate what he could, and then turned his head. “No more, please.” 

She nodded, and set the bowl aside. “You should rest.” 

“I’ve been resting. Do you have my bags?” They weren’t sitting around in the open areas of the home. He’d left all but the essentials with Roach before returning to town for his pay. A good decision, seeing how things turned out.

“I might. Do you have a horse? Tall, brown? A bit moody?”

“Roach.” 

“Huh. Fitting. I came across her on the ride back from the castle. No idea how she found us, but your stuff was nearby, and she led us that way. She’s waiting in my stable, didn’t want to advertise your presence if anyone walked past. Your bags and swords are with her.”

“My swords?” She got his swords?

“I found them before I found you, and brought them with me. Thought it might be easier than sneaking in again for them. I’ve heard you’re particular with what you use. Sit tight; she’ll want to see you, and I’ll bring your stuff in.” She stood and opened the window, letting in fresh air and sunlight, and then slipped out the front door. Somewhere outside, a barn door swung open, and a few minutes later, he heard Danika curse. 

“You put those teeth anywhere near my hand again, and I’ll feed you to him for dinner,” she threatened. “I’m trying to help you both.” 

He laughed under his breath. “Roach, come.” 

There was the sound of galloping hooves, and another muffled curse from Danika, before his horse was sticking his head over the edge of the window, sniffing the air and then huffing. Seeing her alive and well, and no worse off for a month left to fend for herself, helped ease his mind. 

“Be nice,” he scolded, unable to keep the smile off his lips. 

Roach whinnied, and he could just make out Danika approaching. “Easy,” she soothed. “I told you he was going to be okay. It’s alright.” 

The damned contrary beast turned away from Geralt, appeased, and nuzzled along Danika’s shoulders. The woman made a soothing noise, her fingers running through Roach’s mane, brushing along her neck. 

“There are a few sweets in the smaller bag, if you really want to win her over,” he offered. Roach whinnied, the horse happily bending towards the bags, searching for her treat.

“Oh, you understood that, didn’t you?” Danika laughed. “I’ll make you a deal. Let me go set this down inside, and then we’ll look for the treat. He must pack these with rocks. Poor baby, carrying all of this stuff.” 

“My horse is fine,” he grumbled.

Roach made a mournful sound, likely enjoying the sympathy, and the promise of treats, offered by their hostess. Geralt laid back and closed his eyes, content to listen. There was a warm spring breeze blowing through the window, carrying the scent of mud and flowers, and for the first time since his imprisonment, his stomach was content.

The door opened, and Danika walked in, setting his bags and swords near the bed. “Is there anything you need right now?” 

“My swords, and the larger bag.” She raised her eyebrows. “To clean,” he clarified. “Not to use. Who knows what those bastards did to them.” He paused. “Sorry.” 

Danika cut him off with a wave. “I’m an adult. I’ve heard curse words before. Even muttered a good deal of them myself when trying to get you out of there, not that you would remember, I’m sure. But, that’s a no on the swords. You couldn’t lift a spoon twenty minutes ago. Let’s not play with the blades right away. I put a lot of work into you not dying. Let me take care of Roach, and then I’ll help, okay?” 

He nodded, and she grabbed a few sugar cubes from his supplies and went out, using them to draw Roach back into the stable. A few minutes later, she returned.

“Have you done this before?” he asked, as she hauled the weapons up beside them on the bed. 

“Never with anything this big, but yes.” She set the larger bag beside him, and he handed her the oil and two cloths, one to clean and one to polish. She set to work, hands moving confidently along the blades, removing a month of dirt, and the remnants of the Erynia, the monster that had gotten him into this mess in the first place. He’d never had the chance to fully clean them after he finished the contract. Good thing it hadn’t been a necromage. The blood would have corroded the silver by now, and he’d be out a good sword. 

Once the silver blade was clean, she took the other cloth, dotting oil along the middle of the fabric, and then working it slowly down the blade in smooth, even strokes. He watched, critical eyes following the movement, but could see no flaw in her work. Finished, she held it out so he could inspect it. 

“Good.” 

The sword was returned to the sheath, and she removed the steel, starting the process over again. Lulled by the repetitive motion of her hands, he felt his eyes start to close. She must have noticed, because he heard the motion stop. 

“Sleep. I can finish this.” 

“Hmm.” 

The sound of cloth on blade resumed, and he let his eyes drift shut.

***

When he opened his eyes again, it was dark. There was stew cooking, and Danika was bustling about near the flames. His swords were hanging on a peg only a few feet from the bed, with his other belongings neatly stacked beneath them. 

“Tell me you didn’t cook my horse.” 

She startled, and then laughed, turning to face him. “Roach is fine. Snacking on apples and grain.” 

“You’ll spoil her.” 

“Says the man who keeps treats in his bags.” 

He grunted. 

“It’s almost done. How are you feeling?” 

He stretched, testing his wounds and broken leg. At this point, there was no use in using any of the potions or salves in his bag; he was healing alright on his own. While he doubted he was ready to travel, he figured the chances of his imminent demise were slight. “Better. Thank you. Did you rescue me on your own?” 

She turned. “You were just conscious enough to move your legs,” she replied. “I couldn’t have carried you.” 

“Why would you go in alone for me? How did you know I was there?” What he wanted to ask was why she would risk herself for him, a complete stranger and a witcher at that. No one just...did that for someone. Not for someone--something--like him. 

“A guard had a few too many, and started bragging to his friends at the tavern.” She paused. “I know what people say about you. They’re wrong. And I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing.”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Because the truth was, all of the horrible things people said about him? They weren’t always wrong. And at the end of the day, he could tell himself that he was just doing it for the coin, and that their opinions didn’t matter, but some days, it was hard to believe it.

She came over, a bowl of stew in her hands. “Feeling up to doing this on your own?” 

“One way to find out,” he said, taking the meal from her hands. His hands were shaky, but he could manage without spilling it all over himself. Danika watched him for a moment, and then went to go get her own bowl, pausing before walking back over. 

“I don’t want to overwhelm you with company,” she began cautiously. “Do you want some time to yourself?” 

He looked up, and it took a moment for him to realize what she was asking. She wanted to know if she could sit with him, in the chair near the bed, or if he’d prefer her sitting at the table across the room. 

“It’s your house. Sit where you want.” 

She nodded a bit uncertainly, and went across the room without a word. And, fuck. Wrong answer. 

“Danika.”

She glanced up. “It’s okay, really. I don’t mind. I’m sure you prefer your own company.” 

“I find I enjoy your company. Please, join me.” 

She looked uncertain, as if trying to determine if he actually meant it or not, but finally made her way back across the room to sit in the chair she’d been sleeping in when he first woke. 

“Have you always lived in Elderon?” he asked. 

Danika shrugged. “I moved around a lot when I was younger, but I’ve been here for a few years now. It’s not awful.” She sighed. “At least, it wasn’t. I’m re-evaluating things now.” 

“At least there are no monsters,” Geralt offered.

She smiled. “And this far from town, I don’t see a lot of foot traffic. Convenient when hiding fugitives.” 

His lips twitched up a bit.

Within a couple days, thanks to the accelerated healing granted to him by his Witcher mutation, he should be well enough to stand. By the day after, he’d be on his way. It wasn’t safe to stay overly long. He’d find some small way to pay Danika for her kindness before he left. 

And then, he’d leave this cursed place behind. 

They finished their meal in a comfortable silence. There were dark circles under her eyes again, darker than before. She still wasn’t sleeping, then. A glance around the small home revealed why-- other than the bed, there was no other place to sleep. Likely, she had been sleeping in the uncomfortable kitchen chair. He grimaced, guilt settling uncomfortably in his stomach.

His bedroll was sitting with his other belongings. He could set it up near the fire, and sleep fine, even injured. He’d had worse nights. “Take the bed. Sleep.” 

She gave him a sharp glance. “You’re still healing.” 

“I won’t die.” 

Danika rolled her eyes. “Neither will I. You’re not changing my mind, Geralt.” 

He frowned.

“I appreciate the offer, though.” She took their bowls, washed them, and then started towards the door. “I’m going to get the horses settled for the night.” 

He watched her leave, and then settled back. He lifted both arms, one at a time, bending and twisting the joints, making a fist and then releasing. Paying attention to lingering pain and weakness. His legs were next. Moving his toes, and then his ankles. Lifting and bending his knees. The broken leg was healing well; it wouldn’t support him yet, but he hadn’t lost movement. 

He’d be okay. He’d need to train again, and rebuild his strength, but there was no lasting damage. 

The door opened again, and Danika walked in, quickly going over to wash her hands before grabbing bandages and moving towards him. 

“I need to check your back. Do you think you can sit up for a few minutes?” 

He didn’t respond, instead choosing to push himself up. She slipped a hand around his bicep, helping to support his efforts. It hurt, and his muscles trembled. He turned slightly, letting his legs rest over the edge of the bed, and then leaned forward, supporting his elbows on his knees. “Quickly,” he hissed. 

She carefully brushed his hair away from his back, and then undid the wrapping, movements quick and sure. 

She took her time with the bandages, gently easing them from his back, trying to not reopen any of the lash marks where they stuck to the cloth. 

Geralt tried to focus on anything other than the pain in his back, but the memories of being trapped and held down beat insistently against his consciousness. He shuddered, chest suddenly too tight. Danika reached a particularly stubborn bit, the wound pulling, and he flinched away. The sudden movement ripped the fabric, and healing skin, free. Without warning, he was back in the cell. Helpless and trapped. Scared. Alone. 

He could hear the blood rushing through his veins, feel the press of the darkness. His lungs wouldn’t work right, no longer able to pull in enough oxygen. 

_“Geralt.”_

_“No.”_ He fumbled forward, falling. Pain erupted in his leg, but he ignored it, struggling to escape. He tried to stand, mindless of the pain, consumed with the need to get away. To escape. He fell, harder this time, and bit back a cry of frustration. Crawling, then. He’d crawl. Body screaming, he moved forward as far as he could, finding a wall, and then moving along it until it stopped. Trapped. Nowhere to go.

He wedged himself into the corner, pressed against the walls, and pulled his legs up to protect his middle. His back screamed in pain, but he ignored it, trying to make himself a smaller target. 

_“Geralt, please.”_

Something in the darkness shifted, like a memory, almost in focus before it was gone again. He stuck his head down against his knees, covering his head with his arms. “Stop.” His voice shook, cracked. 

_“Geralt, it’s Danika. You’re safe. Come back to me.”_

It took a moment for the words to make sense. Danika. He blinked, lifting his head up from his knees.The darkness started to fade. In its place, the small cabin. The bed. The table. The fireplace. And kneeling in front of him, just past an arm’s length away, was Danika. 

He was nearly hyperventilating. His leg and back were both reinjured. Stupid, witcher. And the woman in front of him was terrified. He could smell her fear, sharp and bitter, overwhelming everything else.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t-- I won’t hurt you. I won’t--” 

She released her breath on a half sob. “I know. _Gods,_ Geralt. I know. You need to slow your breathing before you pass out. In and out, nice and slow. Can you do that?” She took a breath in, held it for a second, and then slowly let it out. He tried to follow. After a couple times, his lungs released, and the panic started to clear. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I don’t know.” He dropped his head forward, pressing his lips together to hold back a sob, hair falling around to hide his face. What was wrong with him? He survived. That should be enough. He should be able to move past this, let his body heal and move on.

He heard her move, shuffling closer, slowly and making enough noise to not startle him. He slid over enough to give her space at his side. She sat just close enough that he could feel her body heat, yet not quite touching. After a moment, she reached her hand over, gently setting it on his, but not saying a word. 

Several long moments passed before he was able to speak. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he mumbled into his knees. “It wasn’t my intent.” 

She gave a wet-sounding laugh. “I wasn’t scared of you. I was scared for you.” 

He turned to look at her, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were damp, and she squeezed his hand lightly. 

“That’s-- Why?” He tried to ignore the way his voice cracked on the second word. People--humans--didn’t worry about him. If most had gotten their hands on an injured witcher, well… It never ended well. Obviously.

She sighed, and set her head against his shoulder, but didn’t answer. Maybe she didn’t know either. Still, it was nice, having her close. Whatever happened to him, it lost its power with her there.

“We need to get you back up to the bed,” she said, after several long moments passed in silence. “Do you think you can stand?” 

He nodded, and she stood, offering her hand down. There was no way she’d be able to provide any real help, not really. But he took it anyway, and then took a deep breath, bracing himself for the pain. He pushed up, and then moved his hand to the wall behind him, using that as leverage until he was on his feet. Danika tucked herself under his shoulder, letting him lean on her as he hobbled back to the bed.

“I need to finish so we can get you laid back down. Are you okay?” 

Was he? No. But he could handle it. He nodded, and she got up, returning to her position on the bed behind him. 

“I’ve worked with soldiers,” she said, as she started removing the last of the fabric. “What you’re experiencing is normal, and it will get better, but it takes time. It might not feel like it, but you’re going to be okay, Geralt.” She paused, and he heard a small jar opening. “You’re healing well. No infection, and all but the deepest marks are scabbed over. I have an oil made with mint, chamomile, and willow bark.” 

“For pain and infection,” he mumbled. 

“It’ll help.” 

He nods his consent. Warm fingers brush over his wounds, leaving warmed ointment in their wake. He concentrates on her touch, letting it ground him. And then, she’s replacing the bandages and rewrapping the cloth around his chest. 

“Let’s get you settled back in,” she offered, guiding his shoulders, taking part of his weight to make it easier to lay down on his side. Geralt let her assist him, and ended up turned towards her, with her now sitting on the edge of the bed. “How’s that?” she asked, pushing his hair back. It got tangled in the start of a beard he had growing after a month of not shaving. 

“I don’t suppose your skills extend to shaving?” he asked. 

“Not tonight,” she said, pulling the blanket up around him. “Rest now, and we’ll see about a bath and shave tomorrow.” 

“Hm.” She went to stand, and he put his hand out, setting it over hers. She paused. “Thank you. For...everything.” 

She smiled kindly, and moved her hand to hold his for just a moment. “Sleep.” 

And then she was gone, tidying up the house and slipping out one last time to check on the horses. He closed his eyes and tried to rest, but memories were overwhelming him. 

It was rare that he found himself in a position he couldn’t escape from. Witchers weren’t just taught to identify and kill monsters; they were taught to survive. They had all heard the cautionary tales, witchers who lost their lives to human cruelty rather than serving out their true purpose. And they all swore that wouldn’t be them. 

Until it was. Until they were chained like wild animals, beaten and left alone in the dark. Knowing no one was coming for him. It was mid-spring. No one would even know he was gone until winter, when he didn’t arrive at Kaer Morhen. There would have been no one else to mark his absence, and by the time the others were able to look into what happened, it would have been far too late. 

He shivered, struggling to push the memories away. If he traveled too far along that path, he might not ever recover. Better to move on. 

Danika returned, and he closed his eyes, not wanting to give up the pretense of not being asleep. He heard her preparing for bed. Drinking water, blowing out candles, and putting another log on the fire. When he looked again, she was sitting at the table, one small candle beside her and a book in front of her. She rarely lifted her attention from the page, her face serene as she read. It was a peaceful sight. 

Every few minutes, though, she’d look up, glancing towards his still form. Finally, she looked up, and turned towards him. 

“You can stop pretending to sleep now.” 

He cracked his eyes the rest of the way open. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” She sighed, and set the book aside. “Is there anything I can do?” 

“Can’t seem to settle. I don’t mean to interrupt your reading.” 

“You’re not interrupting much,” she said, lifting the book and bringing it over, sitting in the chair beside him. “ _The History of Herbal Medicine, as Written by Laudrel Davishton,_ ” she read from the cover. 

“You’re interested in medicine.” 

“Not specifically, but it’s good knowledge to have.”

“All knowledge is useful. The more you know, the better your chances of surviving,” he quoted, voice pitched in mimicry of Vesemir. “I had a teacher who believed in never missing the opportunity to learn.” 

“Sounds like a smart man,” Danika said. 

“Ou fencing instructor. He helped raise me.” 

“He’s to be commended on his work, then.”

Geralt huffed a laugh. “I’ll be sure to let him know. The surprise might kill him.” 

She smiled. “Wouldn’t want that. Maybe keep it between us, then.” 

“I thought-” He cut off, unable to say the words, and unsure of why he started. He pressed his lips together, and looked away. 

“That you’d never see him again?” Danika guessed. 

Geralt closed his eyes, trying to block in the ache those words caused. He was safe, he reminded himself. And after a few more months on the path, he’d turn towards Kaer Morhen. Vesemir would be there, like always. Why, then, did this hurt so much?

Danika took his hand, thumb rubbing lazy circles along his skin. He closed his fingers around hers, the movement hesitant. She could still pull away, if she wanted. It would take so very little to break his grip. But instead, she tightened her grip, not painfully, but enough to say she wasn’t leaving. 

Slowly, he found the courage to hold her hand a bit stronger. And then, to open his eyes. She had turned her attention back to her book, but after a moment, turned to glance at him. 

“Any interest in the healing properties of chicory? Not much of a bedtime story, but…” 

“Please.” Anything to take his mind off of his imprisonment. Anything that might settle his mind. She nodded, and began reading. The information wasn’t new, and some of it wasn’t strictly accurate, but the steady cadence of her voice calmed him. Combined with the feel of her hand in his, thumb still working in small circles, he slowly drifted off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter brings the obligatory bath tub scene! :D


	3. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading along, and for the kudos, comments, and bookmarks! 
> 
> Here is our bathtub chapter, because we know that every good (or even decent) Witcher work has a sudsy witcher in it. Enjoy!

In the morning, there were scones and jam, sausage, and cider. 

It was also not quite morning anymore, probably closer to mid-day. He’d slept longer than he had in years, but the deep exhaustion that had plagued him for weeks was finally starting to lift. He could hear Danika outside, her voice muffled as she talked to the horses, and saw water heating by the fire. For his bath, he hoped. He felt cleaner than he had in captivity, Danika’s doing, but far from clean. 

After his time in the dungeon, it would take a deep scrub to even start feeling clean again.

He was still on his side, facing the chair Danika had spent the night in. Her book on medicine sat on top of it. She must have stayed there all night. Something had to change; she couldn’t keep giving up her own rest for him.

Geralt braced his hands beside him and pushed, moving to a seated position, leaning back against the pillows to get as comfortable as he could manage, and then moved the plate of food closer. Hunger twisted sharply in his gut, so he gratefully dug in.

He was nearly done by the time Danika returned. She came in with a gust of warm spring air, her hair windswept and starting to fall down around her shoulders. with a bit of hay in it. 

“Good morning,” she said, her smile bright. 

“Is it?” 

She gave him a inquisitive look. 

“Morning, I mean. Is it still morning?” 

“Ah. Just barely.”

“Hmm.” 

“Sleep is part of healing,” she commented, coming over. “And you are looking much better this morning because of it.” 

He looked up, eye catching on the pieces of hay, and he smothered a smile. “Come here. Bend down.” 

Curious, she did as he asked. He reached up, and plucked the stray foliage from her hair with deft fingers. Her hair was soft, and warm from the sun.

She saw the hay and laughed. “Your horse and I had a bit of a disagreement about the placement of her breakfast today. She’s getting antsy. I’ll try to get them both out for a bit; the sun is shining, and there’s a field not far from here. Do you think you’ll be okay for a little while on your own?” 

Geralt furrowed his brow. “I’ll be fine.” But the question gave him pause. 

“All right. I’ll give them a little while to eat, and then take them out.” She scooped up the book, and brought it back to the far table. “I don’t have much to offer for entertainment. Books, mostly. I don’t suppose you’re a reader?” 

“I’ve been known to crack a book or two.” 

She rattled off a few titles, and he picked one based on some local myths. It was one of the few he hadn’t already read. 

Once he was set, and the horses had time to eat, she left again, carrying a small bag with her. After several minutes, he could no longer hear her or the horses along the trail, so he turned to his book.

The silence was familiar. The birds in the trees outside let him know that there was no human or monster near. Wind whistled softly through the trees, and he could feel the warm breeze through the cracks near the closed window.

Keeping an ear tuned to the outside, he set the book down, and closed his eyes, willing himself to relax as he waded towards the quiet calm he always found in meditation. 

The afternoon was half-gone when she came back, smelling of grass and trees, damp earth and sunshine. Her lips tipped up in a carefree smile when she walked through the door, setting a small sack down beside it. He could smell the sweet aroma of strawberries in the air.

“Horses happy?” he asked, setting his book aside. 

“Very. Tinker won’t know what to do when his playmate is gone,” she said. “I thought I’d never get them back in.” 

“Hmm.” 

“The water should be plenty warm now. Let me rinse the berries, and then I can get your bath together. Do you need anything before that?” 

He shook his head, then reconsidered. “A change of clothes might be good.” He still had no shirt on; it was easier to reach the bandages that way. His medallion hung against his bare skin, the heavy metal a comfort. 

She brought his bags over, and he took them, digging about until he found his spare set of clothing.

“We’ll need to take the bandages off, too. I have fresh ones for after,” Danika said, moving to sit beside him. At his nod, she undid the knot holding the cloth on his back, gently removing them. 

“These are all healing well. Another day, and you won’t need the bandages anymore. How are they feeling?”

“Better.” 

“Good.” She finished the bandages, and then prepared the bath. Finally satisfied, came back to the bed, holding a hand out. “Ready?”

Geralt nodded, and took her hand, letting her help him to his feet. As soon as he was standing, she slipped beneath his arm, keeping him balanced as he hobbled painfully across the room. Once he reached the tub, he held tight to the side, taking the last step unassisted.

And then she turned her back, allowing him to undress and get into the water alone. He sunk in deep, the heat soothed his muscles. There was soap near the edge of the wooden barrel, and he took it, running it over his skin, watching the dirt and blood swirl into the water. He then lathered his hands, using them to clean his face, feeling the coarse beard taking shape.

Danika gathered his clothes, dropping them into a second tub of steaming water before changing the bed sheets. She brought them towards the washing tub, glanced in, and then seemed to think better of it, setting the bloodied and dirty sheets on the floor. Once fresh sheets were stretched over the mattress, only then did she turn back to him. 

“Do you need help with your hair?” 

It was a tangled mess, and more than he could manage, weak as he still was, so he nodded. She came around to his side, careful to stay in his line of sight, he noticed. Gentle fingers undid the tie, letting his hair fall free. 

“Hang on. We’re going to need a balm to get this soothed back out again.” She disappeared from view, only to return a moment later with a small vial in her hands. It smelled like lavender and mint, and as she began working it through his hair, fingers and a thick comb working apart the tangles, he felt himself tipping his head back, giving into her ministrations. 

He shouldn’t allow this. He knew better than to let anyone get close to him, even for a short amount of time. But she didn’t seem to want him for his body or his abilities, only to provide comfort after his ordeal in the dungeons. 

And gods forgive him, he was going to let her do it. 

Finally, and too soon, his hair was free of tangles, laying smooth against his back and shoulders. She poured fresh water over his head, and then began working in the soap, nails scratching lightly against his skin as she cleaned away the weeks of grime. And then, she rinsed it all away, leaving his hair clean and soft. 

For a moment, he forgot himself, reaching for her hand, pulling it down closer, pressing his lips against the pulse in her wrist, suddenly struck with a flurry of emotions. Needing the contact as desperately as he needed the air in his lungs. She didn’t pull away, but did nothing to encourage him, either. He looked back towards her. “I’m further indebted to you, it seems.” 

“I’m just trying to keep my bed sheets clean.” 

“Hmm.”

“Still good for the shave?” 

He nodded, and gestured to his kit on the bed. She went over to retrieve it, and then pulled his hair back and out of the way before lathering his face and neck. 

As the water cooled, Danika handed him a drying cloth, and then helped him back to the bed. His leg, while healing quickly, still throbbed. He sat there, still a little damp, while Danika rebandaged his wounds, some of the deeper ones getting a bit of healing salve from his bag. She was gentle, so much more than he ever was when he did this for himself. After, his pain lessened and muscles relaxed, it was all he could do to get under the covers before falling asleep again, clean sheets pulled up around him as he drifted off. 

***  
It was still dark when he awoke. His clothes were clean and hanging near the stove. Danika sat sleeping in the chair, still across the room. She was bent awkwardly, and would no doubt feel the effects by morning. 

The constant care of him and his horse, coupled with the lack of bed, was catching up to her. He couldn’t in good conscience let her continue to suffer for his benefit. He’d move her to the bed, and then take his sleep roll out and lay nearby. 

Or…

It would be tight, he thought, feeling the edges of the mattress, but they would both fit. She objected to him sleeping on the floor, but maybe this would be a compromise she’d be willing to accept. 

He pushed slowly to his feet and walked the short distance across the floor. His leg threatened to collapse with each step, but he pressed on, lifting the slight woman into his arms. She mumbled softly, and settled her head against his chest. He froze, glancing down at her. The sight gave him pause, but she slumbered on, either finally soundly asleep, or aware and far more trusting than she should be. 

The only way they would both fit on the bed, he quickly learned, was to hold the girl in his arms. He stretched out, her slighter form tucked against him. She stirred, then, turning towards him, her hand coming up to rest on his chest, fingers splayed over his heart. The touch settled something deep inside of him, and he felt exhaustion overtake him. 

Satisfied that she wasn’t going to fall off the bed, he closed his eyes, quickly falling back into a deep sleep. 

***

Early morning light woke him. Danika still slept in his arms. At some point in the night, their legs tangled together, and he’d turned to his back, the young woman now half sleeping on his chest. 

He felt rested for the first time in months. More than that, with the steady, warm weight of her resting against him, he felt the stirrings of what he could only label as peace. He didn’t move, barely breathed, wishing she would sleep just a little longer. 

No doubt, waking up beside a witcher, curled this intimately together, would quickly end her hospitality. He’d find himself back on the road within minutes, injured or not. 

He really hadn’t thought this through. Fuck. 

Pushing the worries from his mind, determined to enjoy this moment for as long as it would last, he let his eyes fall closed. He was nearly back asleep when he heard horses approaching the house, moving quickly. Four horses. At least for riders, then, and by the sound of armor jostling with each rise and fall of their mounts, they were soldiers. 

Geralt felt his blood run cold. They’d found him. There was no way he’d be able to run in time, and he could barely stand. But he’d fight. If it meant that or returning to the cell, he’d give his last breath for his freedom.

But first, he needed to get Danika somewhere safe. He shook her shoulder. “Danika, we have company.”


	4. The Cost of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt deals with the aftermath of his imprisonment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I hope you're all staying healthy and safe! Thank you so much for the kind comments, kudos, bookmarks, and for just taking a few minutes out of your day to read this; you all make my day a little brighter. Sorry for the wait on this; work is slowly starting to open up and I'm shorter on free time than I was. The next chapter should come a little faster.

Danika was awake at once, jerking up and rolling from the bed, jostling Geralt in the process. He bit his tongue against the grunt of pain. She gave him a curious glance, and then looked towards the door. The men were close enough that she would be able to hear them now, too. Her back straightened, and she turned back to him.

“You need to hide. Under the bed. Quickly!” she whispered, as she tossed all other signs of him under the wooden frame to join him. There was panic in her eyes, even if she tried to hide it in the surety of her voice. She was afraid.

“You can’t face them alone,” he protested. 

Her expression hardened, panic receding in the face of the challenge. “The hell I can’t. Hide, and let me handle this.” 

Geralt’s every instinct was to stand and fight, cut his way through the intruders, if he had to, and then let Roach carry them both to safety. But, in truth, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to fight back, not if there were more than a couple of them. His leg still ached and trembled from carrying Danika to the bed the night before, and his back may be healing, but he doubted he could easily swing his sword; he was in no shape to defend them.

So, he slipped under the bed, hiding like a child, as Danika went out to face the threat alone. 

The door opened and closed, and he strained to hear what was happening through the window. 

He heard the murmur of voices, the men’s, and something about an escaped prisoner. They were looking for him, then. His head swam, memories pushing forward, leaving him dizzy. He needed to move, and get Roach out of the stable. Get as far away as he could. Even if they didn’t catch him this time, why risk them coming back? His fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his sword, knuckles white. 

“You’re welcome to search my house,” Danika offered, voice muffled, “but I should warn you. I haven’t been feeling well. There was a traveler two weeks ago, and I took her in, but she was awfully sick. I think I caught it.” She coughed loudly, and it was realistic enough. “Do you think it might be serious?” 

_What was she playing at?_

The men made their excuses quickly, and moments later, Danika was back, locking the door behind her. 

“They’re gone,” she announced quietly. Geralt slipped out from under the bed, grabbing his supplies out with him. Danika went to the water pitcher, pouring herself a small cup of water, swishing it through her mouth before going over and spitting it out the back window. 

He watched her movements, trying to put the pieces together. “Are you okay?” 

“Fine. Bit the inside of my mouth for the sake of ‘coughing up’ blood. They likely think I’ve caught the plague. They won’t be back.” 

“Hmm.” Clever. She was right; the soldiers likely wouldn’t return, at least not right away.

She walked over to him, gently lifting his shirt. He stepped back, eyeing her warily. 

“Sorry. I should have asked. Can I check your bandages? I want to make sure nothing reopened when you were under the bed.” 

He nodded, and stood still as she slipped the shirt aside and checked beneath the bandages. Her fingers were cool from the outdoor air, and he shivered at her touch. “Nothing torn, but you definitely irritated it. And it’s bleeding again.”

“Sorry.” 

Danika shook her head. “My fault. Should have thought better than to have you crawling about on the floor. Does it hurt?”

“I can barely feel it.” It was true, mostly. The pain was nothing like it had been. 

She gave him a doubtful look, but didn’t say anything. 

“I need to go. You’ve risked enough to keep me safe. I can make it from here.” 

“You’re barely steady on your feet.” she argued.

“Good thing I have a horse, then.” He turned towards his bags, preparing to repack and leave, but was stopped by a gentle hand on his elbow. He paused, and turned back.

“One more day,” Danika said, curling her hand lightly around his arm. “Leave tomorrow, if you have to, but give your body the extra time to heal. Please. I’m in no danger, Geralt. The men left. We’re both safe.” As she says the last words, she puts a hand on his chest, resting over his heart. And, even with his witcher mutations, his heart is beating faster than normal. He was scared. The thought of going back to the dungeon, of being found here when he was too weak still to protect himself, let alone Danika, terrified him.

He lifts his hand, putting it over hers, curling his fingers slightly around hers to hold them in place. She must have seen something in his eyes, because she reached out with her other hand, finding his, and lifting it between them. 

“You’re safe here. I swear it.” 

He couldn’t help the stuttering breath escaping his lungs. He lowered his head to rest on hers, their brows touching. She released his hand, moving hers up to his cheek, and then to run her fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his face. 

He fought the urge to turn into her touch, instead keeping his body still and unyielding. It was ridiculous, really. She couldn’t protect him. Her promise of safety was empty. She could no more take on his captors than she could give Roach wings and fly them both to safety. 

But the thought that she would offer was touching, all the same. 

He sighed, stepping back. “They didn’t touch you?” 

“Didn’t lay a hand on me. I’m okay.” 

“Hmm.” 

He glanced out the window, making sure the guards were long gone. “I’m going to check on Roach.” He left his bags sitting beside the bed, an assurance that he wasn’t going to ride off the moment he reached the stable. Still, he felt her eyes on him as he walked across the one-room home and out the door. 

Roach neighed happily when Geralt opened the stable door and stepped inside. There was a second mare, light gray and a little smaller, beside her. _That must be Tinker,_ he thought. He ignored the second horse for now, lathering his own with soft, attentive words. Her stall was warm and clean, and there was fresh water and food set out for her. 

“Well, you’re not suffering, it seems. Don’t get used to this. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

Roach knocked her head against his chest, huffing softly. 

By the time he was halfway back to the home, his leg was threatening to give out on him. He limped the last of the distance slowly, feeling sweat from the pain stream down the side of his face.

He was nearly there when the door to the home opened, and Danika quickly made her way to him, slipping herself under his arm and supporting part of his weight. “Brilliant idea, by the way,” she commented lightly.

He didn’t respond. If he opened his mouth to say anything at this point, it would likely come out as curses, anyhow. He didn’t know how to explain that he had to get up and out of the house, feel the dirt beneath his feet and see his horse. Things he thought he’d never experience again. He couldn’t tell her that his hands trembled while running along Roach’s neck, or that tears threatened to blind him. 

Everyone believed that witchers had their emotions burned out of them during the trials. What would they think, if they could see him now? Turmoil dug deeply in his chest, leaving him in a constantly anxious state. His stability was shaken. 

She managed to get him back into the bed, and then handed him his satchel. “If you have anything for pain, you may wish to make use of it. You’re white as a ghost.” 

He dug through, fingers closing around a vial of light green liquid. This potion was a risk; it would work well to dull the pain and help him sleep, but it made him vulnerable in other ways. Witchers were told to take it only when alone. It wasn’t as strong as some of the other potions, but had a pleasant dulling effect, muting pain while also lowering their defenses, bringing forward emotions better kept locked away. He hesitated a moment, and then pulled it out, taking the liquid down in one gulp. Danika was waiting beside him, handing him a cup of water to help rid his mouth of the taste. 

“Thank you.”

“Was she happy to see you?” 

Pain dulling his thoughts, it took a moment to realize she was talking about Roach. “Thank you for taking care of her.” 

“She’s a pleasure, and Tinker appreciates the company.” She took the cup, and returned with a cool, wet cloth. “This’ll help,” she said, handing it to him. 

His forehead was still uncomfortably hot and damp with sweat. He accepted the cloth, wiping it along his brow and pressing it against the pulse points in his neck, feeling his pulse surge under thin skin.

The medicine was taking hold, relieving pain and leaving him feeling drowsy and loose. It was rare--exceedingly rare--that he took this potion in the presence of others. In the safety of an inn, the door locked and windows covered, or on a trail, with no chance of running into another living thing, he would just wait it out. After a few minutes, the need for sleep would overcome everything else, and by the time he woke, the effects would be nearly worn off (even if he did feel a little more...something....in the days after). 

Today, with Danika sitting beside him, the emotions were stronger than usual. Loneliness and fear overwhelmed him, clawing through his chest. He reached out, desperate for an anchor, his fingers entwining with hers. “You’ll stay?” he asked, hoping she didn’t notice the waver in his voice. 

“For as long as you need me,” she replied. Her spare hand came up, soothing the bair back from his face. “Rest, Geralt. Your body is still healing.” 

He leaned into her touch, letting his eyes drift shut. “I don’t want to be alone.” 

“You’re not. I’m right here,” she soothed. “It’s okay. Rest.”

Lulled by her touch and the elixir, he quickly fell into a deep sleep. 

***

In the night, the dreams started. Fear of being locked up, trapped, tortured. He fought back, but weary and depleted, soon gave up, curling in on himself, desperate to avoid further injury. “Please. No more. No more,” he gasped, sobbing. 

“Shh. Geralt, you’re safe.” There were soft hands on him, pulling him back. “It’s a dream. I’m right here. You’re okay.” 

He stirred, starting to wake, reaching for Dani before his eyes even opened, pulling her against him. Her arms went around him, holding strong even as his hands trembled against her back. 

“Geralt?”

He released her, sitting up to run shaking hands over his face, both coming away damp with tears and sweat. Out. He needed out. Geralt pushed the blankets aside, coming to a stand on trembling legs, and ran from the house. He made it halfway to the barn before stopping, his wounds screaming and stomach in tight knots. He leaned forward, hands gripped tightly to his knees, as he struggled to not lose his most recent meal into the grass. _Gods help him; what was wrong with him?_

“Geralt?” 

He turned. Dani was standing just past an arm’s length away. The moon painted her face in shades of white and blue. Her hands twisted in front of her, unsure of what to do for him. “Are you still with me?” she asked.

He nodded roughly, words and emotions caught up and clogged in his throat. He reached a hand towards her. She took it in her own, taking a step towards him, and then another, until they were only inches between them. 

“How can I help?” 

He shook his head roughly. “I-- I don’t--” This had to be the elixir still, but it should have worn off by now. Growling slightly, more in frustration than anything else, he tugged her in, burrowing his head in her hair.

Everything-every emotion, every last bit of fear and pain and hopelessness--from the last month crested within him, sweeping him under. He held to her, suddenly sure that, if he let go, he would be lost. 

Her head rested against his shoulder, and her hands came around him, one hand fisted in the back of his shirt, the other soothed through his hair. Her breaths were slow and measured, and after a moment, he was able to school his own breathing to meet hers. 

Several minutes passed before he was able to step back. “I’m sorry.” 

Danika shook her head sharply. “Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. Were you ready to go back in?” 

“Not the bed,” he said. He’d had enough of that for now; didn’t want to give the nightmares a chance to return. 

“We can sit at the table. Do you want your bag?” 

He shook his head. “I’m okay.” 

“Alright.” 

She slipped beneath his arm, her hand resting on his opposite hip. He leaned against her, telling himself it was for support, not because he needed the closeness. And, to be fair, his knees still shook, threatening to give out beneath him. 

“Would a mug of ale be okay? Will it interact with anything you took earlier?” 

“It’s fine.” 

She nodded, and poured them both a drink, sliding his across the small table before sitting down across from him. 

He started to speak, only to have the words escape him. Danika seemed content to let the silence stretch between them, sipping slowly at her drink and watching the flame in the fireplace. 

“I still feel the metal of the cuffs,” he said, finally. “Even knowing they are gone. The memory won’t leave me.”

“You went through a traumatic experience. It’s going to take time to recover from that.” 

And he thinks of the nights to follow, alone, sleeping in the woods. Or in the cheapest room the local inn might provide. Stuck in a nightmare he can’t escape, waking alone, shaking and afraid. 

Warm fingers intertwined with his, offering silent support. 

“I’m leaving in the morning,” he said, forcing the words from his mouth before he could take them back. It would help, getting back to the path. His life would resume, and he could put this behind him. 

Danika’s hand tightened over his. “I know.” 

He nodded tightly, trying to fake resolve that he didn’t quite feel. How easy it would be, to just stay another day or two. To tell himself that it would make a difference, make him stronger somehow. But he knew better. He’d stayed too long already, and when Danika put herself in danger for his sake, that settled it. He wouldn’t let her life be the cost of his freedom. It was time to go.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for a few months, and thought, with everything going on, it might be time to start posting. I hope you're all staying well, and thanks for reading!


End file.
